


If only, if only

by starsapphire



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Blackmail, Clint has trust issues, Coulson's job comes first, Fluff, Friendship, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Pre-Canon, Romance, but only to a point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 00:24:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsapphire/pseuds/starsapphire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The silence from the other side of the room is answer enough, and Clint laughs again. "You could have just asked," he pushes out. </p><p>"We don't have time to earn loyalty. Would you have said yes?"</p><p>The question gives Clint pause. "I guess we'll never know," he responds, setting aside all wishes that Agent Coulson had given him a choice, because he just might have said yes and he doesn't need that regret as well. It's too late now. They might not have time for earned loyalty but something like this can't be easily forgiven. Clint thinks he knows himself well enough to say that SHIELD lost something important when they used this tactic, but it's gone now so there's no use in what ifs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Clint isn't sure how he's gotten himself into this situation yet again. Eight years of training as an assassin and he still hasn't managed to overcome his inherent morals completely. With a muttered, "Fuck it," he calmly switches his target from the mark's throat to that of his most recent employer. He's been known to do many things in his career, things that have earned him a reputation as ruthless and mildly insane (but effective), but Clint draws a line at the systematic murder of all the friends and family of a (mostly) innocent man. Especially when his employer is one of the most corrupt and cold-hearted men he has come across, which is saying a lot for someone in his profession. 

From his perch on the 10th story of a building overlooking the courtyard where the meeting is taking place, Clint has the element of surprise. The guy is dead before he realizes anything has gone wrong, quickly followed by his two minions. 

The former mark, obviously shocked by the unexpected turn of events, seems unsure whether to flee or thank his savior. Clint doesn't have time though for the young man's sudden and effusive expressions of gratitude, so he ignores him in favor of swinging off his perch into a nearby alleyway and disappearing into the crowded city streets. Any pause at this point could prove fatal, as the smugglers have a large and fairly well coordinated network and he can't be sure they won't order a hit on him. 

At the very least his professional reputation will be rather irrevocably tarnished. Oh well. 

Considering this, Clint realizes he wouldn't mind laying low for a few months. He doesn't really need the money, and any job offers coming at this point were likely to be from people underestimating his skills and independence. That might give him an advantage, but he doesn't like being disparaged and generally attempts to work for people who hold at least a little respect for him. 

Luckily, Clint Barton is very good at staying hidden. Or so he thinks. 

\--------------------------------------------------------

Three months later, he hasn't had a single attempt on his life, and the sniper is growing restless being always on the move. He begins to consider taking another commission, but it is only the depletion of his funds which leads Clint to return to the public eye. 

It doesn't take long before he's approached by someone offering a nice chunk of cash for a simple assassination. He's given only the barest details and doesn't bother to ask for more. After the long hiatus, he's impatient enough to get back to work that he's willing to take anything, and so he goes into the job knowing nothing more than time, place, and description. This time, he's just the weapon. 

So he's completely unprepared for the heavy security surrounding his target. That wouldn't be a problem, except for the fact that said security apparently knows Clint is coming and has him surrounded before he gets within 100 yards of the mark. 

He doesn't even see them coming. 

Maybe he's distracted, but the first time the archer looks up is when he hears the distinctive sound of a safety catch flick off. Followed by 9 others. It doesn't take him long to realize that he's utterly screwed. 

Clint doesn't give the heavily armed men any trouble as they snap him in handcuffs and bundle him in the back of an unmarked van. He watches silently as they take away his beloved bow, locking it away somewhere he can't see. He sits still as they close the van's windowless doors, fervently wishing he hadn't rushed quite so quickly into this job. Wondering who the hell these people are, and whether he'll ever leave this near-complete darkness that threatens to make him disappear forever. 

Luckily for his sanity, the van stops after only a few minutes. Clint is blindfolded before being taken out, catching only a nondescript glimpse of concrete pillars and rows of cars before his vision is taken away once again. He walks alkwardly between two restraining arms, trying and failing to keep track of the path they take. 

When the blindfold is removed, he's sitting on a metal chair in a brightly lit room to which it takes his eyes a minute to adjust. By the time he stops blinking, Clint is alone. Taking in the white tile, the mirrored wall, the assassin decides this definitely isn't some rival gang. He's regretting his lack of vigilance - and of information - even more now. 

The archer is about to get up and start pacing when the door to his cell opens and a man walks in. He's wearing a black suit and holds himself with the quiet confidence of someone who expects the world to order itself to his preferences, because it does. His expression of bland calmness is that of a man who has all the time in the world and is graciously deigning to spend some of that here. And, to top it all off, he's the man Clint was sent to kill. 

He keeps his face carefully blank, but inside, Clint is reciting every curse he knows - at the people who sent him here, at himself, at the world. He's well trained though, and doesn't let his inner feelings distract him from the situation at hand. The two men watch each other for a minute, one wary, the other seeming in complete control. Clint's beginning to suspect that this man would not be an easy one to kill, even under the most favorable of conditions. 

"So," begins the man, and Clint still doesn't know his name, he was attempting to kill the guy without even knowing his name, and he's such a fucking idiot but he forces his attention back to his interrogator in time to catch the rest of his sentence. He's holding a folder in his hands and seems to be reading from it as he talks. "Clint Barton, stage name Hawkeye, pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Clint tries not to blink at the fact that this man knows his real name (as well as his 'stage name' - the choice of words makes him wonder if the name's origins are known as well.) He thinks he succeeds, and tries to hide any surprise that might have flickered across his face with a response. "It's generally considered good form to give your own name as well when making introductions, or didn't your mother teach you to be polite?"

The jibe sounds weak even to his own ears, but the suit doesn't even acknowledge it. He merely responds, "I'm afraid you don't have the security clearance to know my name," his face as bland as ever. "Although I'm surprised that you would attempt to kill me without even having that amount of info. You didn't seen like that kind of guy."

This time Clint can't keep the frown off his face, because one, security clearance; that suggests that they're not about to kill him, if what he knows matters, and also indicates some kind of government agency. He really was stupid to get involved with this job. And two, the second statement makes it seem as though this isn't the first time they've encountered him, as though maybe they've been keeping tabs on him, and that's just not cool. He doesn't let it stop him for long though, and responds with, "Yeah, well, people change."

"That's true," the man replies, "which is why I think I can trust you with that bit of sensitive information. I'm Agent Coulson."

And now Clint's sure this is government, because who else would have agents, and it sinks in just how well and truly fucked he is. It takes effort, but he keeps his face blank as he responds, "Lovely to meet you, Agent. Why don't we go bond over a few drinks? I'm sure we could share hundreds of interesting kidnapping stories."

Something flickers across Coulson's face too quickly for Clint to identify, but he only looks faintly amused by the time he responds. "An hour ago, you were attempting to kill me for money. Forgive me if I don't take you up on your offer, but it's generally my policy not to get drinks with known assassins. It's bad for the health. Please, don't take it personally."

Clint sighs. The unexpected banner is amusing, but he knows that he's here for a reason, and he's suddenly sick of waiting to find out what that is. Whatever's going to happen, he just wants to get it over with. 

"In that case, let's just cut past all the bullshit. Why am I here?"

"Because you tried to kill me," Coulson responds, expressionless as ever. His bland façade isn't giving anything away, and Clint just barely restrains the urge to punch it. 

"I thought that we were going to drop the bullshit. I'd be willing to bet that you've been keeping tabs on me for a whole lot longer than you're admitting, and that if you hadn't been, I wouldn't be here right now. You seem like a pretty important guy. Somehow I doubt that every random assassin to take a crack at you gets a personal visit. So why am I sitting in this room instead of being a fading blot on the sidewalk?"

Coulson's face grows cold in the wake of this little monologue. His expression is still as shuttered as ever, but now it has an icy quality that hits Clint like a punch to the ribs. The archer starts to regret his fit of temper. It seems like regrets are starting to be a common theme in his life right now, so why not add a few more? 

"Admit it, you guys are interested in me," Clint finishes, smirking to hide the growing fear that's twisting his gut. 

If anything, the agent's face becomes even icier, but his voice is mild when he responds. "You should be careful with that mouth of yours, before it gets you into trouble. Not everyone here is as easygoing as I am."

If Coulson is considered "easygoing" here, Clint is going to have problems. 

Coulson is the one to break the short silence that follows. "You want to know the truth?" he asks, face hard. "We have been watching you. For long enough to press quite a few charges should you prove...difficult, so either you cooperate with us or you disappear for a long time. You're lucky that we're interested in your skills. If I were you, I wouldn't want to do anything to jeopardize that."

Even as Clint hears the words he can feel himself calming. Threats are good, threats he can handle, he's used to them. Anything's better than the icy calmness that had been emanating from the man facing him. He schools his face back to blankness and ignores the warning bells going off in his head. 

"I still don't know who you're with. Who's we? What do you want from me? Before I drop to my knees like a good little puppy, I'm going to need some reason to believe you're not bluffing." Clint knows that none of that was a bluff, knows it as certainly as he knows that what he's doing now is nothing if not a bluff, but he still has no idea what he's dealing with here. No real information has been exchanged, and Clint's not sure how or why the conversation got derailed but this is the only way he can think of to get it back on track. 

"You think I'm bluffing." 

It isn't a question, but the ice is receding from the agent's face if not his voice and Clint considers that a win. It's not enough to counteract his apparent suicidal tendencies though, so he doesn't retract his statement, just raises one eyebrow challengingly and waits.

Coulson smiles. Clint's never seen anyone seem so calm and yet utterly terrifying at the same time before. It would be very impressive if he wasn't too busy being terrified. 

"Clint Barton, you are being recruited as an operative if SHIELD, the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. If you accept this offer, you will be placed as a handler and and trained as a field agent. We are giving you this option because of your impressive skill set, which we believe will be of use. If you refuse, you will be tried and undoubtedly sentenced for an impressive list of crimes including 58 counts of first-degree murder. A life sentence would be highly likely. Do you understand your options?"

"It's a life sentence either way," Clint mutters, but he knows there's no choice here. They've played him perfectly. He laughs bitterly. "Just tell me one thing. If I hadn't taken the job, would I still be here right now?"

Coulson's expression doesn't change, but he sounds ever so slightly remorseful when he answers. "Maybe not right now, but yes, we can be very...persistent, when it comes to our recruits."

Something clicks then, and Clint swallows. "It was a trap, wasn't it? The whole thing. Was a trap. You don't usually walk around with ten guards, do you?"

The silence from the other side of the room is answer enough, and Clint laughs again. "You could have just asked," he pushes out. 

"We don't have time to earn loyalty. Would you have said yes?"

The question gives Clint pause. "I guess we'll never know," he responds, setting aside all wishes that Agent Coulson _had_ given him a choice, because he just might have said yes and he doesn't need that regret as well. It's too late now. They might not have time for earned loyalty but something like this can't be easily forgiven. Clint thinks he knows himself well enough to say that SHIELD lost something important when they used this tactic, but it's gone now so there's no use in what ifs. 

Looking up at Coulson, Clint forces his lips into a smirk and asks, "When do I start?" Coulson stares hard at him before turning and walking to the door. "Welcome to the SHIELD, Agent Barton. I'll be your primary handler, at least for the time being, so I'll expect you at my office tomorrow at 0800. Someone will be along shortly to show you to your quarters. Get some rest."

Clint no longer has the energy to act, so it's lucky that by the time he replies, he's only talking to an empty doorway. 

"Yes, sir."


	2. Chapter 2

Clint goes everywhere he's ordered to, obeys his superiors immediately, and after a while it's not too bad. Agent Coulson is a very competent handler - he seems to actually care about Clint's progress in training, and for some reason that makes Clint want to work harder. He's considered a flight risk, so his freedom is limited, but at least he doesn't have to worry about where his next meal is coming from. SHIELD doesn't have his loyalty, but it's gained his obedience and maybe even his respect and for now that's enough. 

The first time he's allowed on the shooting range is a month after he's recruited. The handful of other trainees have all used the weapons before, but their aim for the most part is shaky at best. When Clint audibly scoffs at the close proximity of the target, his instructor is unimpressed. Wordlessly handing him a pistol, the agent nods towards the target challengingly. Out of the corner of his eye, Clint can see his handler watching him from the corner. Coulson doesn't visibly react as Clint effortlessly lands a shot dead center. When his second bullet goes straight through the hole left by the first, barely even touching the target, the handler's mouth curves into a slight smile for just a moment. 

Behind him, someone mutters, "Beginner's luck." Clint turns around, eyebrows raised.

"Excuse me?" he questions, calmly. He's smiling, but his eyes are ice cold. "I may not have many skills, but I don't like it when people doubt this one. So remember: I. Never. Miss."

The unfortunate recruit swallows, eyes trained on the gun still held loosely in Clint's hand. Clint is done with him though, and turns to the instructor, who is glaring at him with a sour expression. "I'm even better with a bow, sir. Wouldn't it make more sense for me to train with the weapon I'll be using in combat?"

The agent seems about to start shouting and blustering, but Coulson steps out from where he had been standing. "You will receive your bow at such time as we are able to ascertain the full extent of your loyalty to SHIELD. Until then, you will train with the weapons provided you. However, I doubt that this class is best suited to your needs, so you may use this time for independent practice instead, provided that up you check in with Agent Sattler before and after."

Clint, who had already been contemplating hours of boredom in the course, looks up gratefully but allows himself no more than a quiet, "Yes, sir." Coulson nods and is gone. 

\--------------------------------------------------------

At night, due to his precarious stance within SHIELD, Clint's room is kept locked from the outside. He becomes immediately claustrophobic in the enclosed space, so after curfew he finds refuge in the ducts. Prowling in the small crawl spaces, he can almost forget that he's here against his will. He finds Agent Coulson's office after a few weeks and watches him fill out paperwork for a few minutes before once more slipping away. His handler gives no indication that he is aware of Clint's presence, but the next day he is summoned to Coulson's office again. 

The agent begins without preamble. "I want you to stay out of the vents," he says, and Clint's heart sinks. He should have seen this coming and he knows it was probably against the rules but now he is going to go crazy stuck in that tiny room and he had _hoped_...

The archer wrenches himself out of his thoughts to hear his handler still speaking. 

"I want you to, but I'm not going to order you to. However, since locking your door obviously has no effect, it will be kept unlocked at your discretion. I do hope that you will consider the hallways as decent alternatives to the ducts."

Clint can't hide the surprise that passes over his face. If he had been ordered to stay in his room at night, or stay out of the crawl spaces altogether, he knows he would have been unable to disregard the command. Somehow, in the short time they've known each other, Coulson has wormed his way so deeply into Clint's mind so as to be virtually indistinguishable from his own conscience. 

But instead of being punished, he's basically being rewarded. Maybe this means that Agent Coulson trusts him, at least a little bit. Or maybe he realizes that his asset could leave at any time, and that pretending otherwise is stupid. 

Clint's not actually sure what it is that's keeping him at SHIELD at this point. He tells himself that he wouldn't be able to stay hidden, and it's true. He has no doubt that SHIELD could find him easily, and that he might not then get a second chance. 

But he can't quite stop the nagging voice at the back of his head that says that SHIELD no longer needs that incentive. Not when they have Agent Coulson. 

In any case, pretending that he's there by free choice is better than treating him like a prisoner. 

As though he can read his asset's mind, Coulson continues, "We can't keep treating you like a prisoner if we want you to ever actually be useful in the field. You will be evaluated within the week to confirm mission readiness.”

Clint nods sharply.

"Will that be all, sir?"

"Yes, Barton," Coulson responds. "You're dismissed."

\--------------------------------------------------------

Clint regains his bow three days before the start of his first mission. He spends those days training practically non-stop, spending hours at a stretch on the shooting range. He doesn't miss his target once, not even when his fingers are bloody and he's dripping with sweat. After a time Agent Coulson comes to find him. 

"You have to stop," he orders mildly. "You'll ruin your fingers."

Clint acquiesces easily, but comes back again later that day.

After all the preparation, the mission itself is practically anticlimactic. It's a simple search-and-rescue, and he only needs to make a few easy shots. 

He doesn't miss. 

After that first mission no one suggests he go back to classes, so Clint spends the time at the shooting range or prowling the hallways. When he finds his way to the roof, he spends hours there just watching the city. He's sure that they know where he is, but he's had a lot of experience sitting on roofs so maybe they trust him not to fall - or jump. 

He never has more than a week between missions, often a lot less than that, so he's out enough to start building up a fragile trust with his handler that goes deeper than anything they've shared so far. After a few months that bond has solidified into something stronger, and Clint starts to think that maybe SHIELD will gain his loyalty someday after all. 

On his fifth mission he jumps off a rooftop to save a junior agent's life (under extremely complicated and convoluted circumstances). He's reprimanded for reckless behavior, but on the upside he's no longer ignored in the cafeteria. His absolute loyalty might still be in question but there's no doubt that he's reliable.

By the time he's been there for six months he would trust Agent Coulson with his life (often has, in fact), and is starting to build connections with others as well. It doesn't change the fact that he was brought in against his will, but at least he's no longer an outcast at SHIELD. In fact, he fits in better than he ever has before, anywhere, and he doesn't want to leave anymore, even if he could. 

Being closer to a group than the fringes isn't something he's had before, and it feels too good to let go. 

\--------------------------------------------------------

It's when they're trapped together in an abandoned bunker in Ukraine that Clint realizes he's in love with his handler. He's woozy from blood loss but Coulson's worried face looking down at him seems like the best thing he's ever seen. He tries to say something, to ask Coulson for answers when he's not even sure himself of the questions. 

Before he can open his mouth, though, his vision starts to go black, and it's all he can do to mumble an unintelligible apology for worrying his handler. 

When he wakes up in SHIELD medical, Clint is grateful that he hadn't had a chance to say anything. He clamps down on the confused emotion and does his best to avoid Coulson. Unfortunately his best in this situation isn't very good. 

He realizes he still doesn't even know the man's first name. It makes him want to cry. 

Clint escapes up to the roof as soon as possible rather than allow anyone to guess what he's feeling. He can't afford to let anybody know, because he's certain that seeing Coulson's pity, his kind, gentle rejection would break something irreparable inside him. And what else could there be but rejection?

After all, they first met during an assassination attempt. 

So he avoids his handler whenever possible, and keeps unavoidable contacts brief and as impersonal as he can. It's harder when they're on missions together and he hears that voice in his ear asking him – not Clint, but Hawkeye – to report his status. He wants to tell Coulson exactly how fucked-up his status is right now, but he knows that's not what the agent is asking, and he certainly doesn't want to hear it. So Clint responds with terse monosyllables that seem to be slowly driving a wedge between them. 

Clint tells himself that's what he wants.

It's even worse when they inevitably get captured again and they both end up handcuffed to a steel bar in a tiny underground room. To top it all off, they get a seemingly insane supervillain monologuing at them for their viewing pleasure. All Clint wants is to stop Coulson from getting hurt, and if he wasn't so well trained he would have started to sob when the senior agent sacrifices himself for Clint instead. They're rescued before there's any real damage, but Coulson is still in medical for almost a week. 

Clint can't help wondering if it means that Coulson cares about him too. 

The handler comes to check on Clint as soon as he gets out of medical. He even goes so far as to apologize for allowing the sniper to be captured in the first place, which only makes the guilt throb just a little more. When Clint asks why he did it, Coulson doesn't pretend not to know what he's talking about. Instead, he goes straight into a little speech about "protecting his assets" and "having more experience with pain", (which is bullshit, by the way). 

Maybe he really does just think of Clint as an asset, someone to be used up to the limit of their usefulness and then replaced, but the whole thing seems a little too forced. He's putting too much effort into his textbook explanation and Clint wants to call him on it, but he can't take the chance that he's misreading the whole thing. So he says nothing. 

It's a few days later that he overhears Fury on his way into the office. It turns out that Agent P. (for Perfect) Coulson does have an actual first name after all, and Clint walks around on a ball of sunshine for the rest of the day.

And then they're on a mission in Budapest that turns into a nasty shoot-out. Clint ends up bleeding out from a total of four bullet wounds before the medics get to him. A frantic Coulson - two words that should never go together - accompanies him back to base and waits two days for him to wake up. 

When he opens his eyes the first thing Clint sees is the ceiling tiles of SHIELD medical. And then his vision is blocked out by the relieved face of Agent Coulson. Maybe this had been the final straw for his stoic handler, because suddenly Clint has a hand on the side of his bandaged face, and his lips are enveloped by Coulson's before he has a chance to react. 

The kiss starts out tentative and soft, though as Clint starts to respond it grows frantic, silently encompassing all the unspoken worry that has passed between the two of them. 

At first Clint is too shocked to do anything more than instinctively respond, but as his mind kicks back into gear he thinks of all the reasons this is a bad idea. And ignores them, because he isn't the one who instigated it and he'll deal with the fallout later. He's always been more one for regrets than caution. 

When Coulson finally lifts away, Clint's first words are, "That was mean."

Coulson's face falls, obviously expecting a rejection, a chew-out for taking advantage of the archer while he's helpless. He looks like he's about to turn around and walk out by the time Clint continues. 

"I've been pining over you for months, sir," he says. "Couldn't you have saved that for a time when I could fully enjoy it?"

He doesn't have the chance to say anything else before his lips are once again stolen. This kiss is slow and sweet, relieved. It ends with Coulson staring once more down at Clint, his probing gaze searching the depths of Clint's expression. The sniper tries to make his face as open as possible, and whatever his handler finds there must reassure him because he relaxes minutely, his gaze softening. 

"Have you really been pining for me?" he questions, voice deceptively blank. 

"Don't make me repeat myself," Clint responds. "Sir." he adds it in, because even if this is really happening Agent Phil Coulson will always be "Sir" to him. Even if - 

"Call me Phil in private," says the man Clint loves. And never mind - now he's Phil. "Sir, yes, sir," replies Clint, just to be difficult. 

"When you recover I'm taking you out to celebrate," Phil decides. His cheerful, confident voice is somewhat belied by the hesitance in his eyes. It's adorable. 

"Are you asking me out?" 

Clint almost giggles, but manages to stop himself just in time. His handler might not take kindly to him laughing at the proposal. He is, however, unable to stop himself from having a bit of fun at Coulson's (Phil's!) expense. "I seem to recall you once saying that you didn't go out with known assassins. Has that changed?"

Phil rolls his eyes. "Well, now you're _my_ assassin. Makes a big difference."

"I was trying to be your assassin then too, just in a slightly different sense."

They both go quiet at that, and Clint starts to regret bringing it up. He is frantically searching for a new subject when the doctor enters to check on him. In the ensuing bustle, Coulson slips out of the room and Clint isn't sure whether to be glad or sorry. 

\--------------------------------------------------------

He doesn't return to see Clint until the sniper is released from medical. It's a week in which Clint wonders whether he's changed his mind, if maybe he's been so repulsed that he can't even bring himself to visit. Clint tries to dismiss his fears, but even when Coulson does come back, he just hands him a stack of paperwork and says, "Glad to have you back, Barton." Calm. Cool. Utterly professional. Clint might as well have just imagined everything that had happened between them. He stands still for a moment in the doorway of his room before gathering his courage and sprinting after his handler, who is already disappearing down the hallway. 

"Wait!" he calls. Phil pauses, but doesn't turn. Clint waits until he draws level with the man before continuing. 

"You said you were going to take me out to celebrate," he reminds the agent. 

Phil half turns, then seems to change his mind and starts walking again. He doesn't object when Clint follows, so the archer stays half a step behind, half afraid and half hopeful. 

When they reach Phil's office, he motions Clint inside and then follows, closing the door behind him. He searches the archer's face, but Clint's not letting anything show. Not when he has doesn't understand the situation at all. Phil sighs and sits down, gesturing for Clint to do the same. 

"I need you to answer everything I ask you truthfully, no matter what. Regardless of what you think I want to hear. This is important."

Clint nods in assent, inwardly frantic. What's going on? He struggles to keep his face impassive as he listens to his handler speak. 

"You're a good actor, I know that. I've used that, even, to my advantage. But right now I wish that I could read every thought that goes through your mind so that I could tell whether or not you were telling the truth when you implied that you want to be with me."

Clint opens his mouth to stop Phil from saying anything more while he figures out what's going on, but he's cut off before he can begin.

"Two weeks ago you returned my advances. I need to know whether that's because you truly want to be with me or because you think you need to. Right now I can't imagine why you would even trust me enough to be friends with me, let alone lovers, and I can see why you might think that refusing me would have a negative bearing on your position here. But please trust me when I tell you that's not the case."

The archer just stares, dumbfounded. After a minute of silence, he asks, "What makes you think I wouldn't want to be with you?"

This time it's Phil who's taken aback. He answers, "Isn't it obvious? I basically forced you into joining SHIELD against your will. I tricked you and trapped you, and you could do nothing but follow me. I've led you into countless dangerous situations and then," his face twists bitterly, "taken advantage of you while you had no choice but to lie there and take it. Well, now you have a choice. Why would you choose me?"

Phil really is an idiot, but Clint will set him straight in a minute. First, though, he has to figure out what exactly he's assumed about his actual intentions. 

"So, what, you thought I was going to fuck you to get a promotion? Do you really think I would do that?"

Phil blanches. 

"No, of course, not, that's not what I meant at all. I just wanted to make sure that you knew there wouldn't be any negative consequences if you decided not to be involved with me. It doesn't have to change anything, or if you would prefer not to work with me anymore, I can have your primary handler reassigned. I'm sorry if this has damaged any friendship we might have had."

"Well, that's slightly better, I suppose," murmurs Clint. 

"What?" Phil sounds startled. 

"I'd rather have you thinking that I would fuck you to protect myself than to advance my career," Clint clarifies. "It shows a little bit less of a trust issue."

Phil seems pained when he answers. "Can you please stop talking about you fucking me? It doesn't exactly tell me that you're in the calmest and most reasonable state of mind right now."

"Sorry, sir."

"Phil."

"What?" Clint asks, confused. 

"Right now, call me Phil. This is private, personal business and has nothing to do with work or any kind of hierarchy. Please."

The heartfelt plea hits Clint hard, and he can't string this out any longer. 

"Let me set one thing straight, because you seem to be confused. I love you, and everything I've done has been because of that and only that. You don't need to worry that I'm only doing this because I think I have to or that it's the easiest way. I want this. I want you." 

For the first time, Phil smiles, and it's like sunshine from behind a storm cloud. Wordlessly, he leads Clint out of his office, down the elevator, and through the front door. It's the first time he's been allowed out except for missions since he was recruited, and the burnt coffee they get at the nearest Starbucks feels like a little bit of heaven. Walking home afterwards, hand in hand, Clint feels like he's never been so happy. So it figures that that's when it all comes crashing down around him.


	3. Chapter 3

It takes Phil six hours to realize that Clint hasn't just disappeared into the vents, he's disappeared altogether. There's not a trace of him anywhere in the building, nor is there any suggestion of a struggle. As far as anyone can tell, he just left without saying anything, a theory corroborated by security footage of a man roughly Clint's height and build exiting the building (by the front door, no less!) around the right time. 

Phil doesn't want to believe that Clint would do that at this point, but as time passes with no sign of him the agent is forced to conclude that he's not coming back. He sets a team to track him, inwardly cursing all the trust he had placed in the archer. 

He wonders, now, in his darker moments, whether the whole thing was just a ploy to get him to let down his guard. If so, it worked pretty damn well. But no, surely Clint isn't that good of an actor. He can't be. There must be a perfectly reasonable explanation for this. 

It's the first time that Phil has ever hoped that an agent under his command has been kidnapped. 

\--------------------------------------------------------

As he gets mile after mile farther from SHIELD headquarters, Clint ruthlessly ignores the regret he feels for throwing away the life he has built for himself. He knows that SHIELD will likely not take him back after this, and that even if they do he will have lost all the trust he had gained. He will have lost Phil. 

If they don't, who knows what might happen. He knows too much for them to just let him leave. 

He has no illusions about whether they will find him. It's just a matter of when. 

Even now, they are likely tracking him, so he keeps his hood up and his head down as he switches cars and makes sure no security cameras are watching when he meets his contacts. Every minute that it gains him is welcome. 

He's not bitter as he nears his destination, just regretful. This will always take precedence, regardless of how many times he runs the options through his head. There is no version of this where he gets everything, so he settles on the most important and hopes he can someday rebuild the rest. 

From the moment he received the coded text, his choice was made. Because this is Natasha, who taught him everything he knows, who he hasn't seen in years and yet is more loyal to than everyone in SHIELD put together. He trusts her without a doubt, and if she's contacting him there's a reason. So no, he's not bitter. 

Because he might trust Phil with his own life, but Natasha's? Not a chance.

\--------------------------------------------------------

Just because his (favorite) asset is gone, Phil's life doesn't stop. He's still in charge of field ops, still has a mountain of paperwork to fill out each day, still has just as many uncooperative prisoners to intimidate. And so when he's assigned to take out a dangerous Russian operative, he gets right on it. 

The task has been attempted before without success, which is why Phil is now the one to head up the team. It's a mission that needs a sniper, and if Phil hates the fact that he's replacing the most valued if his assets he doesn't show it. 

He still keeps an eye on Clint's case, though, and is therefore the first to notice a pattern. Three days after his disappearance Clint is spotted in Helsinki, just two blocks away from where Phil's latest mark, Natasha Romanov, is seen later that day. Phil tries to dismiss it as coincidence, and thinks himself lucky that the assassination team can double as retrieval. 

The next day they're both seen in Stockholm. Walking together. It can no longer be imagined a coincidence. 

Phil still hangs on to the desperate hope that there's some coercion involved, but he doesn't believe it. From what they know, it's not the Black Widow's style, and besides that Clint appeared to have left the building under his own volition. He can't rule out blackmail, but SHIELD is not aware of any compromising situations. Then again, SHIELD's intel could be incomplete. 

At night, lying half-awake, Phil comes up with crazy schemes in which the Black Widow has blackmailed Agent Barton into joining her so she can use him as leverage against the SHIELD team coming after her. They make perfect sense at two in the morning, lull him to sleep, but when he wakes up he can never remember the wonderful solution that lets it all work out in the end. 

After a week has passed and the pair are both in Vienna, staying in an apartment rented under someone else's name, Phil decides its time to go in. They're not learning anything more from watching. He's been waiting at the SHIELD base in Berlin, and he's in Vienna by lunchtime. The apartment is surrounded once it's confirmed that they're both inside, and his borrowed sniper is perched on an adjacent rooftop. 

He's sure Clint knows they're there by now. 

\--------------------------------------------------------

Clint wasn't terribly surprised when he found out Natasha was being targeted. The surprising part was that she was worried enough about it to have called him out. It's not easy to scare the Black Widow.

It takes a while for them to catch up on each other's lives, but while Clint tells Natasha every detail of the past few years, it's not reciprocated. Clint doesn't mind. He's pretty sure he doesn't really want to know.

They figure that their unknown adversaries have been tracking them, so they've kept on the move. They're hoping that the apartment is well enough hidden to be safe for a day, until they see what seems to be an entire regiment of suspiciously nonchalant undercover operatives around it. Along with a few armed helicopters and a not-so-subtle sniper.

Clint wants to try to fight their way out, until he looks more closely and realizes that he recognizes some of the men. He isn't sure whether to laugh or cry. 

Whatever else might be true, he certainly can't imagine fighting against the agents he had called teammates such a short time earlier. They're definitely here for the Black Widow, as Natasha recognizes some of the faces as well, and it's the worst possible thing. If it came down to Natasha's survival, Clint truly can't say which he would choose. He really hopes he doesn't have to.

Natasha is tired of running anyway. So they stay put while Clint tries to think of ways they can both get out alive. 

He can't come up with anything. 

He just hopes that Phil ( _no_ , not Phil, not anymore, _Coulson_ ) isn't heading this team. He definitely couldn't handle more than a token resistance against that particular agent. Given his luck, though - seems likely. So he's not really surprised when his handler (probably former handler, he reminds himself) walks through the door a few minutes later. 

That doesn't mean he's prepared. 

Especially when the agent begins to speak, and it's in that bland, icy tone of voice that hasn't been used on Clint since they first met. That's infinitely worse than the guns trained on him and Natasha, or the handcuffs they approach him with, and no, he's not prepared. Not a bit. 

\--------------------------------------------------------

When Phil opens the door, he's still hoping against hope that he's wrong, that Clint is there against his will. That's shattered immediately by the sight that greets him. 

The archer has his bow drawn, the arrow pointed straight at Phil's eyes, his face shuttered. He's adopted a protective stance in front of the Black Widow, who has no visible weapons and an equally blank face. 

Even as his heart cracks open, Phil swings into action. He has three different guns pointed at the two of them within seconds and is stepping forward himself before he can think. As long as he's dealing with the situation from the emotional distance of target-objective-strategy he doesn't have to think about his own reactions, so he turns his voice as cold as possible before speaking. 

"Agent Barton. Drop the bow and keep your hands where I can see them. Same goes for you, Miss Romanov."

Clint doesn't move for a moment, just stares at the man in the doorway. Then he opens his mouth. 

“Don't hurt her,” he says, his voice low and pleading. "Please promise not to hurt her."

"Drop the bow, Agent Barton," Phil repeats, unmoved.

All of the fight seems to go out of Clint then, and the weapon clatters to the ground. The Black Widow still hasn't moved, but now she speaks. 

"I'm unarmed," she says quietly. "You don't have to take my word for it. Search me if you like, I won't make any trouble." She wiggles her hands behind her back; the audible clinking takes a second to place. Handcuffs. 

"We both know you can take out a roomful of soldiers while tied to a chair, so why not skip the theatrics?" Phil's voice hasn't changed, and his face is still hard as rock. But despite his words, he steps forward. 

"Agent Barton, please remove every weapon on your person and place them on the ground in front of you. Any sudden moves, someone gets shot."

Clint doesn't object as he complies, gradually revealing an impressive stockpile of weapons. He doesn't resist when his hands are cuffed behind his back, either. Natasha stands by and watches, silent. 

By the time they're both blindfolded in the back of a van, Phil has no excuse left to avoid his emotions, so he locks himself into his tiny command cubicle and lets his mask fall off. 

He doesn't emerge for three hours. 

\--------------------------------------------------------

In the brightly lit interrogation room, surrounded by memories of his beginning at SHIELD, Clint knows that he doesn't have an excuse to make it all better. So he says nothing at all. In his head, he apologizes, begs, pleads for Phil (not _Phil, Coulson_ ) to take him back. He thinks up excuse after excuse and discards them just as quickly. 

He had thought he was prepared for this, but now Clint finds that no, he's not. He can't watch his life crumbling with a calm face, so he lets the tears stream down his face unchecked. He doesn't think about it, but maybe that's the best case he can present for himself right now. 

Clint doesn't try to hide from the disgust which he now sees coloring his handler's gaze, even as it cuts him to the core. He knows he deserves it. 

He's really just grateful that he and Natasha are alive. Clint's still not sure exactly how he pulled that one off, until he realizes that no, he didn't. Coulson did. The man has always been too kind for his own good. 

Clint wonders what would have happened if Agent Hill had been the one to find him. It's not a pretty thought. 

Eventually Coulson stops coming to talk to him, leaving Clint alone with his thoughts. They're still feeding him three meals a day and have shown no inclination to punish him beyond his imprisonment, but he knows it's only a matter of time before they get frustrated and start to become...creative. He knows how this plays out, he's seen it enough times from the other side. 

So when the door opens to admit two guards, the brawny muscled type they use to intimidate people they consider dangerous, Clint is as prepared as he can be. It takes him a full three minutes to realize they're taking him in the wrong direction. The only time he's been to this part of the building...

He reaches his conclusion just as they stop outside Director Fury's office. The door is open and he's inside before he has time to process the sudden shift in expectations. 

Clint's only been in the room once before, but it's just as he remembers it. Except that this time, Agent Coulson is standing to the right of Fury's desk, looking calm and business-like. 

Fury stands as they come in. "Take a seat," he tells Clint, dismissing the guards with a wave of his hand. He regards the archer for a minute before beginning. 

"Having talked to Agent Romanov," Clint looks up in surprise, "I have decided that you have not been entirely compromised. However, you are being placed on probationary status, and should something of this nature happen again you can rest assured," here he pauses to glare threateningly, "that further measures will be taken."

Clint stares at the director, unable to comprehend what has just happened. Instead, he latches onto the first thought. 

"You made Natasha into an agent?" he asks, hoping that he hasn't misunderstood this detail. 

This time it's Coulson who answers. "Natasha Romanov showed willingness to cooperate with us. Her personal skill set could prove very useful in the field, so I took her on as a level two agent." 

Coulson's face and voice are bland. He could be speaking to any of his colleagues, at least the ones he doesn't know very well, and it hurts. It's still better than the ice he had spoken with before, though, so Clint ignores it and focuses on processing. 

When he gets it, his eyes go wide. "You're not kicking me out?" he whispers, incredulous. It's more than he had dared hope for, and yet thinking about working with Phil (Coulson, not Phil, _Coulson_ , dammit) again...Clint feels like he won't last a week. 

Something must show on his face because Coulson speaks, his voice wry. "I can see why you might want to work with someone else in light of recent events, but I'm afraid that you will be under my command at least until you prove yourself trustworthy. I believe that I am currently the one best suited to determine whether or not you have been compromised."

Clint's face falls even further. Of course his handler doesn't trust him now, why should he? Still, hearing him say it so baldly is painful. It has only been a few weeks since they were exchanging declarations of love, and Clint wishes he could wake up and it would all have been a bad dream. 

It's too bad life doesn't work that way. 

Clint feels lost, so when Fury dismisses him he goes back to the quarters he hasn't seen for almost a month. As he nears the door he thinks regretfully of the time when he had thought that he would be moving in with Phi - Coulson. He just barely stops himself from being bitter. 

Clint walks into his room to find Natasha sitting on the bed, waiting for him. "Agent Romanov," he greets her, forcing a smile. She knows him too well for that work, though, and so she only responds with a bland, "Hawkeye," and waits for him to tell her what's really on his mind. 

"What did you tell them?" he asks, finally. "How did you convince them to let me stay?"

"I told them the truth," she responds, as if obvious. 

Clint's not buying it. "You mean the part where I was more loyal to you, a dangerous assassin on SHIELD's hit list, than to SHIELD itself? That must have gone over real well."

Said assassin rolls her eyes. 

"So maybe they weren't thrilled by that, but they could hardly be surprised - "

Clint can feel his lips twisting wryly at that one. It stings, lemon juice on an already infected wound, and he can't help but respond defensively. 

"I know that I'm not a terribly trustworthy guy, but is it so incredible to imagine that I might perhaps have a little bit of a heart after all? Am I such an unlikely candidate for agent material that everyone was expecting this, that even you say that it could not have been surprising? That, I have to say, seems unfair coming from the person I just risked my life to help."

Natasha waits patiently for him to finish, her expression saying that she's not impressed by his little fit of pique but will hear him out, since he's had a rather trying few weeks. Natasha can say a lot with a quirk of her eyebrow. She lets him run out of steam before continuing. 

"That's not what I meant and you know it," she says. "All I meant was that you were a relatively recent addition to the team, and therefore could be expected to have previous loyalties. Not to mention the rather unorthodox recruitment techniques they used to bring you in in the first place..." 

Natasha glances at Clint; he's looking away but tenses when the last words leave her lips. A sore subject. 

"In any case," she continues, "they didn't really mind that. In fact, they trusted your judgment enough not to kill me - which I'm grateful for, by the way. No, it wasn't your so-called lack of loyalty that was the issue, so much as the fact that you decided the right answer was to run away. Apparently, they don't agree. Which was made clear to me. Several times. In no uncertain terms. I told them that if they wanted answers, they were psychoanalyzing the wrong person."

Her eyes are frosty now, and though Clint feels more comfortable with this ruthless assassin than with (almost) anyone else, the sudden edge to her tone prompts him to take a step back. Too bad he already has the door handle pressed to his back, and therefore has nowhere to retreat to when she she speaks. 

"Did you even consider going to SHIELD for help? At the very least you could have asked for leave. Your handler, for example, seems like a competent, rational man. I'm sure he would have listened to your request."

This time Clint's flinch is even more blatant, and Natasha senses she's touched a bigger mine than she intended. She pretends not to notice and continues on with her chastisement, but her face and voice soften, become as gentle as the face and voice of a former Russian operative can ever truly be. And when she has switched from scolding to comforting, and that has also run its course, she offers one of her rare unguarded smiles.

Clint takes it along with the promise of family she's offering, and tries to forget that Coulson was ever part of that same dream. 

\--------------------------------------------------------

Sitting on his own bed, Phil Coulson is reliving the morning's meeting. He tries to spend as long as possible considering the easy, painless bits, but those are too few and far between to last long and in reality? He can't resist dwelling on the most painful. 

He has plenty to choose from.

The look on Clint's face (no, Barton, not Clint, keep this as wholly professional as possible) when he realized that he was staying, that flare of incredulous relief. It was obvious that he had been absolutely certain that he would be out on the streets without a backwards glance. Or maybe in a jail cell, because what reason has Phil given him not to think the worst?

But that glimpse of Barton's fears had been nothing compared to what came after it. The quick flash of eyes to meet Phil's own, his face draining of color. And then when his suspicions were confirmed, the twisted expression that Phil is sure had been thinly concealed loathing. The almost physical pain of another hole being torn in Phil's already mangled heart. 

Phil knows he should have expected this reaction. Why shouldn't Barton hate him now? After all, he had practically blackmailed the archer into joining SHIELD and then had the hypocrisy to expect unswerving loyalty. The gall to think that Hawkeye could not have any stronger ties elsewhere. 

He hadn't even considered the possibility that the specialist might have a legitimate (at least theoretically) reason for leaving in such a fashion. And that, right there, is what it comes down to. After everything, a complete lack of fundamental trust. Coulson is disgusted at himself, feels his heart twisting a little more each time he enters the interrogation chamber.

After all, the only technical crime Barton had actually committed was to go AWOL – and Phil had locked him in an interrogation room for it. A case could be made for fraternization with the enemy, in theory, but certainly nothing deserving of the harsh treatment that had been given. No, but Phil had made this personal, and in doing so most likely destroyed every shred of trust his asset had once felt in him. 

It helps to think of Barton in such impersonal terms. If he's just an asset, then it doesn't matter as much that he can't stand to be in the same room as his handler, that he loathes the idea of working with him. Then it's just another work problem, and those, those Phil knows how to deal with. 

\--------------------------------------------------------

Unfortunately, when Barton comes to his office the next day to obtain his mission details, all of Phil's carefully thought out strategies for dealing with the situation fly out of his head and all he can see is _Clint_. Who's staring at him with that same mixture of fear and loathing that tells Phil just how cleanly he's broken the bond between them. 

It hurts just as much as the first time, but Phil slams down a cool mask to hide his pain. They carry out the meeting in professional efficiency and Phil just barely lasts until Clint is out the door before letting himself break down. 

And then Clint is back at the threshold. He doesn't knock before entering, so Phil is unprepared when he looks up to see the specialist standing uncertainly before him. 

"Clint," he breathes. 

Clint's eyes widen at the sight of his recently calm and collected handler so far from either of those things. 

"I'm sorry," the archer whispers. 

And this breaks Phil even further, because after everything that's been done to the man standing in front of him, he's still apologizing. Still feels the need to atone for his dubious crime. 

"Don't be," Phil replies, and maybe it's the wrong thing to say because Clint's face blanches and then shutters faster than Phil would have thought possible. He turns to walk back out the door, and Phil is suddenly certain that if he leaves now they will never be able to fix what's broken between them. He doesn't know what he's going to say until the panicked "Wait!" breaks from his lips. 

"Please," he adds. He's not sure what he's begging for but he knows that he needs it desperately. 

Clint doesn't turn back, but he pauses, and Phil is grateful for even just that small leniency. He struggles to find the words that will repair the gash between them. It's more than just a business matter now, and Phil has stopped trying to pretend to even himself. It's not Agent Coulson and Agent Barton, it's Phil and Clint, and treating it as anything less will only serve to drive them apart even further. So Phil takes a deep breath, and starts to talk. 

He tells Clint about his panic when the archer disappeared, about his denial even as the facts became unquestionable. His heartbreak when they broke into that apartment. And then he talks about the way he felt when he first saw Clint, beaten and proud and defiant all at once. The slow onrush of trust and affection. His bittersweet realization that he is in love, but cannot allow himself to be compromised. 

His narrative is clumsy and broken, full of backtracks and tangents, but it's straight from the heart. It's nothing like the calm, composed agent that the rest of SHIELD depends on, no. This is the hidden Phil, the very core, and Clint is the only one who could possibly have drawn back all the layered masks to find it. 

Eventually the flood of words trickles to a halt, and at the very least Clint hasn't left yet. He hasn't responded, yet, either, though, and as the silence stretches out Phil feels the remains of his heart plummet to his toes. 

He can imagine that behind those crystalline eyes Clint is finding a way to phrase his no doubt angry rejection. Phil has obviously hurt Hawkeye once too many times to allow forgiveness. It's painful, but no more so than he deserves. 

So he looks back down at his desk, to give himself a moment to slip his careful mask back in place. 

"I'll miss working with you, Agent Barton. I'm sure that you're quite prepared for field work, so I'll see about assigning you a new handler at the earliest possible opportunity."

Phil had been carefully focusing his gaze somewhere slightly to the left of Clint's head, so when he flicks his eyes back to the archer's face he's surprised to find the specialist staring back in blatant consternation. 

"You're an idiot," he states baldly. 

"Excuse me?" Phil isn't quite sure what to make of the claim, so he just stands there blinking at his accuser. 

"You're an idiot," Clint repeats, "but then again, so am I, so at least we're in it together."

"I don't follow."

"Then let me make it a little clearer."

The world will never know what Phil's response to that might have been, for he is quite effectively muffled for several minutes after. 

\--------------------------------------------------------

No one at SHIELD is surprised when meetings between Agent Coulson and Hawkeye take place behind locked doors. 

Or when they last quite a bit longer than one would normally expect. 

When Clint comes out the door with his shirt untucked and his hair sticking in about five different directions, though, the other agents can hardly resist the opportunity for a bit of fun. 

The only one who can wipe the self-satisfied smirk off his face is Fury, when he very seriously tells Clint that Agent Coulson's couch is SHIELD property and should therefore be treated with rather more respect. It's said in his sternest shit-just-hit-the-fan voice, and Clint's all set to go into damage control mode before he realizes that all the agents around him are trying valiantly not to break into laughter. 

He looks at Fury slightly differently after that. 

It's not that everything's perfect, because it's not. Despite Phil's usual stoic badassery they still fight over trivial things at home, and Clint is still reprimanded for recklessness on a weekly basis. It takes them months to work out all their trust issues, and quite a bit longer before they can safely say that neither of them is ever compromised by the other's presence during ops, especially ones that go badly. They never quite get used to having each other be abducted and tortured on an unfortunately regular basis. But they never said they wanted perfect, because perfect would be boring. 

What they have is so much better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end, at least for now. I may someday decide to add some post-canon as well, but until then I'll let Phil and Clint enjoy their peace (or lack thereof).

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave any suggestions you might have :) This is unbeta'd so I'd appreciate it if anyone catches any errors. Hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
